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eOFURICHT DEPOSOl 







OF THE 




T 






AND OTHER POEMS 



By 



DAVID IRVINQ DOBSON 



* k 



,»UJM.gULW 




PETER G. BOYLE : Publisher 

267-275 West 17th Street, New York City 






COPYRIGHT, 1922, BY DAVID IRVING DOBSON 



OCT 18 '22 



CI.A663760 



CONTENTS 

PAtSfE 

My Words 9-10 

The Spirit of the Storm 11-12 

A Toiler's Plaint 13-14 

To One in Bondage 15 

One Night in Autumn 16 

The Suicides 17 

My Song 18 

To The Muse 19 

To Maxim Gorky 20 

Recreation 21 

Withering Roses 21 

The Masquerader 22 

To A Youthful Toiler 23 

To THE Morning Star 24 

' ' Civilization' ' 25 

Song of the Wage Slave 26 

A Wish 26 

Spring Musings 27 

Last Night 28 

Dead Loves 28 

On the River 29 

October 30 

Thy Song 31 

Aspiration 32 

The Call 33 

Mother 34-35 

The Heart's Song 36 

To the Wind 37 

Lady in White 38 

A Song of Today 39 

The Seamstress 40 

Exit Romanticism 41 

Liberty's Plight 42 

The Unemployed •. .- 43 



CONTENTS— Continued 

PAGE 

In Memoriam 44 

A Song 45 

At Eventide 46 

Resurrection 46 

A Toiler's Springtime 47 

The Garden 47 

Vanquished 48 

Perhaps 49 

When I Am Gone 50 

To the Brook 51 

Autumn on the Road 52 

The Rock and the Storm 53 

Afterwards 54 

The Pianist 55 

The Peddler 56 

averbuch 57-58 

Hitch Your Wagon 59 

Lamentation 60 

Spring Came 61 

An Autumn Day 61 

A Pastoral 62 

* ' Society Ladies to Fight Radicalism " 63 

The Russian Shadow 64 

Flatbush 65 

Where To? ^^ 

Daniel De Leon 67 

They Who Weep 68 

Kindred Spirits 68 

Nature 69 

Vigil 69 

October Idyll 70-71 

We Have Not Failed 72 

Soul of a Shopkeeper 73 

' ' Open for Daily Meditation " 74 

The Irish Martyrs 75-76 

Silence 77 

In Memory op Horace Traubel 78 

Modern Love 79 

Sunset 80 



CONTENTS— Contmued 

PAGE 

The March Wind 81 

Spring Song 82 

John Reed 83 

In Wartime 84 

First Love 85 

Night in Chicago 86 

Awaiting A Child 87 

The Meadowlark and the Poet 88-89 

Boy and Man 90 

Autumn 91 

Tread of the Frost 92 

Lyric 93 

''A Wind-Tossed Rose-Leaf" — Hafiz 94 

My Estate 95 

To Death 96 



FOREWORD 
By Floyd Dell 

I write these few words, not by way of undertaking 
to assess the value of my friend's poems for readers who, 
after all, must decide that question for themselves, but 
rather in order to express my views upon the subject: 
**Why Read Poetry?" It seems to me that all of us who 
read poetry do so for the same reason that some of us 
write it: because we can not endure being imprisoned 
within the confining walls of Here and Now. Poetry is 
not the only liberator from such imprisonment; but its 
wings are strong ; and for those of us who do not get too 
dizzy it can take us far above the earth and show us, in 
the perspective which of old the gods were thought to 
enjoy, the human miseries by which we are afflicted. 

Poets are traditionally supposed (by ^'red-blooded" 
people) to be continually bemoaning their unhappy fate. 
The truth is that red-blooded people indulge in their 
feverish and largely meaningless activities, in order not 
to have any time to contemplate their own unhappy 
fate — the realization of which would be unendurable. 
The poet is braver ; he can face the truth about his fate. 
And he has that courage precisely because he can see 
himself, from high above and from far off, as one of 
many. So that when he speaks for himself he is — in the 
degree of his perception — speaking for others. It is for 
this reason that when we can not write poetry we read 
it. We find ourselves, in our most secret moods, mirrored 
in another's poems. 

The poet reveals our hiddenmost hopes and fears to 
us. And conversely, those who read poetry are those 
who are debarred only by some technical limitation from 
writing it. They are potential poets. Hence the poet 
has always in a sense, fellow-poets for an audience. And 
he pleases them to the degree in which he utters for them 
their unwritten poems. 



The Here and Now in which mankind is imprisoned 
has never, it would seem, been more irksome to the im- 
patient soul than since the introduction of machinery. 
It seems that we can bear almost anything better than 
our nineteenth and twentieth century servitude to the 
machine. 

Poets, no matter how gloomy a view of human fate 
they took, used to find many things to be incidentally 
enthusiastic about — such as flowers, and stars, and beauti- 
ful v/omen. But the flowers are being pushed further 
and further out of sight by the huge extensions of city 
brick and mortar; the stars are more and more hidden 
from our gaze by factory smoke; and beautiful women 
no longer seen as the consolations of a dreary life, but 
rather as fellow-victims, are quite as likely to evoke pity 
as admiration. Thus poetry becomes less and less calcu- 
lated to give immediate cheer ; even in its more ostensibly 
gay moods, it has an undertone of mocking irony. But it 
has a deeper comfort, which all those who have suffered, 
and are, not afraid to remember it, must ever be grate- 
ful for. 

But the machine age has done more than make us 
rebelliously unhappy ; it has shown us the promise of es- 
cape. And that promise gives more and more, to the 
poetry of today, a tone of hope, of faith, of ultimate 
certitude. Man will ahvays desire more beauty and 
happiness than any world can offer ; but he need not be 
restricted to such poor desires as vainly afflict him now. 
The time will come when our poetry, with its rages of 
rebellion against the conventions of property and sex, 
will seem queer and rather meaningless: but in that 
free world of the future, poets will rage still, against the 
bondage of the Here and Now — and those who can not 
write poems for themselves will borrow gladly these 
same airy wings of escape. 



SPIRIT OF THE STORM 



MY WORDS 

My words are the echoes of struggle, 

The sound of the sweatshop and mart; — 

Written in tears of a wage slave 
And wrung from the depths of his heart. 

I wrote when my voice was too tender 
To cry against all earthly wrong; 

And I wept as I wrote in my anguish, 
The lines of my sorrowful song. 

My text is not taken from ball room 

Or palace of those who are gay; 
I'd rather these lines were a heart-throb 

To echo the life of today . . . 

To echo the lives of the toilers 
Who carry the burdens of earth ; — 

While those whom they love are ill nourished 
And curse the sad day of their birth. 

I Ve toiled since the days of my childhood 
In shops and in factory hells ; 



[9] 



SPIRIT OF THE STORM 



And the sorry result of my labor 
My careworn countenance tells. 

I have lived in the midst of the lowly, 
Where sunshine is awfully rare ; 

Where babes in their cradles must perish 
Because of the pestilent air. 

I have lived and hoped and struggled 
For freedom that seemed so remote; — 

And when I was wearied and downcast 
I stayed in my ballroom and wrote. 

I wrote of the life all about me, 

The life that I knew ah, too well ; — 

A life that was full of endurance 
Or all of the tortures of hell. 



Hence I ask no forgiveness for writing 
In words that are gruesome and gray; 

And I hope that my words may help hasten 
The brighter and happier day . . . 



[10] 



SPIRIT OF THE STORM 



THE SPIRIT OF THE STORM 

The night had cast its shadows far and wide, 
And myriad crystals shone in grand array ; 
And slowly wending its ethereal way, 

The moon, like sweet young blushing bride, 
Did bathe the world in subtle blue and gray. 

The woodland lay enraptured in sweet sleep, 
A sacred temple of sweet Nature 's art ; 
The singing brook had ope 'd to me its heart, 

While somewhere in a tree a bird did weep, 
And to the night did saddest tale impart. 

I wandered close beside the singing brook. 
And listened to its quaint and plaintive lay; 
A mortal soul who, weary of the day. 

Sought peace within this sweet and lonesome nook, 
To banish all discordant thoughts away. 

In silent thoughts and meditation lost, 
I pondered o'er the problems of the world; 
life 's blood-stained banners were to me un- 
furled. 



[11] 



SPIRIT OF THE STORM 



And in my heart I wept upon the cost : 
The countless lives into oblivion hurled 

A voice within me seemed to question ^^WhjV^ 
^^Why all this struggle and this endless race; 
And why, the everlasting tear-soiled face, 

The hollow cheek and weeping sunken eye, 
The falsehood's honor and the truth's dis- 
graced' 

And from the depths emerged a mystic form, 
Its eyes were large and deep ; its hair long 

white ; 
It was a spirit groping in the night ; 

Which bore forebodings of a coming storm, 
That must arrive and set the world aright. 



[12] 



SPIRIT OF THE STORM 



A TOILEE'S PLAINT 

Yon may sing of STinsliine and flowers, 
Of the beauty and joy of spring; 

But for me the day's long hours 
Naught but weariness bring. 

I weep when the sun is shining, 
For I know not how this may be, 

That I, a man, am slaving. 
While beasts in the woods are free. 

The birds that live in the forests 

Are happily soaring about ; 
They sing to the glory of nature 

As they fill their loved one 's mouth. 

The bees that hum in the meadow 
Give praise to the glorious sun ; 

They embrace and kiss the flowers 
'Till the livelong day is done. 

While I, who am made in ^^ God's image," 
Am sweating my life away ; 



[13] 



SPIRIT OF THE STORM 



And I long for the night's fair bosom, 
While I hate and I curse the day. 

I curse the day with its noises, 
Its hurry, and worry, and wrath ; 

For the best of my life has it taken 
And leaves me a prey unto Death. 



[14] 



SPIRIT OF THE STORM 



TO ONE IN BONDAGE 

Yonng, charming, soul-stirring birdling, 

Beating thy frail, bleeding wing 'gainst the 
bars; 
Vainly attempting to cast off thy fetters, 

And soar on thy spirit- wings up to the stars! 

I 
Lured by the hope of appeasing thy hunger, 

Didst barter thy soul for a handful of grain; 
Never suspecting the cage and its trapdoor, 

Never a thought of its bringing thee pain. 

Ah, how I pity thee, child of my sorrow, 
Sister in bondage, I, too, feel thy pain; 

Would we had strength enough to break the 
shackles, 
So that sweet freedom might crown us again. 



[15] 



SPIRIT OF THE STORM 



ONE NIGHT IN AUTUMN 

Sadly the night-^^'ind moans in the tree-tops, 
Weeping and howling in heart rending tone ; 

While out of the heavens, teardrops are falling, 
Teardrops, nay, raindrops that pierce to the 
bone. 

A weary and ragged old woman sits huddled 
On one of the benches that stand in the park. 

Like some wild beast that forever is hounded. 
She seeks to conceal herself here in the dark. 

And several ladies in autos are passing. 

They laugh and they chatter as they pass her 
by: 

But none of them ever seem to take notice 
Of her, who will soon in obscuritv die. 

# * * * 

While sadly the night-wind moans in the treetops, 
Weeping and howling in heart rending tone; 

And out of the heavens, teardrops are falling, 
Teardrops, nay, raindrops that pierce to the 
bone. 



[16] 



SPIRIT OF THE STORM 



THE SUICIDES 

Out of the river of endless pain, 

Out of the channels of human wrath ; 
Poverty, promenading- with Death, 

Sings her mournful, doleful refrain. 

**Come with me, oh weary, sad souls, 
Come away, from life's seething mass; 
I will teach ye, how Death to caress, 

In death are your only goals. ' ' 

And numberless multitudes stagger along, 
Follow her beckoning unto that sphere ; 
Casting aside from them all doubt and fear, 

They follow the strains of her song 



[17] 



SPIRIT OF THE STORM 



MY SONG 

'Tis the song of the common life I am singing, 

Oh, hear it my patient friend; 
*Tis a message of hope and love I am bringing, 

Which the suffering must understand. 

The end of the sorrowful days are coming, 

The slaves of Mammon are up ; 
And loving flowers of freedom are blooming 
In place of that bitter cup — 

Of the bitter cup which made life dreary, 

For ages and ages past; 
And the unjust toil that makes men weary, 

Must disappear at last. 



[18] 



SPIRIT OF THE STORM 



TO THE MUSE 

Fair Muse, I pray thee leave me now, 

And do not thrill my care-worn soul ; 
For daily strife has numbed my brow, 

And filled my heart with wheels that roll- 
In factory-dungeon gray. 

To-day, I cannot think nor feel. 
Nor dream of days when I'll rejoice; 

For ah, I am like a factory wheel, 
And every sound's a foreman's voice; 

So leave me. Muse, I pray. 

Some day when I am by myself. 
Away from noise and pain and greed; 

Beyond the grasp of power and pelf 
And engine-wheels that fly and speed, 

Then yon may come and stay 



[19] 



SPIRIT OF THE STORM 



TO MAXIM GORKY 

Sound as the oak tliat grows from rugged soil, 
Blest with a mind that fathoms life's queer 
moods ; 

The counsellor thou art for those who toil, 
The prophet thou of struggling multitudes. 

Vainly the masters cast their curse on thee, 

Longing to still thy brave heart's fiery throb; 

Thou the forerunner of sweet liberty. 
Defender of the ones who sigh and sob. 

Sing on ! My angel poet. Thy good song 
Thrills every heart that feels its melodies; 

Sing on ! And in the hopeful days along, 
Humanity shall live thy harmonies. 



[20] 



SPIRIT OF THE STORM 

RECREATION 

Tonight, my soul, we two shall wander free, 
Removed from earth *s discordant, bitter woe; 
And far from sorrow's highway let us go 
And drink the muse 's nectar lavishly. 
'Tis but a moment that we steal from life 
When you and I appoint an hour to meet; 
And, ah! this stolen moment is most sweet; 
It bids me live away from endless strife 
And bids me rise above all grave defeat. 

WITHERING ROSES 

This morning while hurrying onward, 
To reach my grim factory hell, 

I saw in the dust of the pavement 
A rose that was sweet ere it fell. 

It lay there unnoticed, forsaken. 
Its petals were crushed and forlorn ; 

And gone was its once youthful ardor, 
And gone was the tint it had worn. 

And I thought of the numberless roses 
That wither away in the dust — 

The children that slave in the workshops 
And sell their young lives for a crust. 

^[21] 



SPIBIT OF THE STOEM 



THE MASQUEBADER 

At times I feel as though an inward voice 
From out my secret heart doth whisper low; 
It queries ** Mortal man why sigh'st thou sol 

Canst thou not live and in thy life rejoice V 

^^See, oh wanderer, how fair the sun doth rise, 
And in its sacred glare life finds its own; 
Whilst thou forsaken one dost ever moan 

And thy sad heart's lament doth shame the skies." 

The voice then dies ; and I go forth anew 
To face the heartless world and wear a smile ; 
It must not know I'm weeping all the while ; 

The world hates the one who dares be true. 



* * * 



And thus with smiling face and weeping heart 
I tarry here and play my woeful part. 



[22] 



SPIRIT OF THE STORM 



TO A YOUTHFUL TOILER 

Child with eyes divinely blue 
Like the summer skies above ; 

In thy sweet lips ^ crimson hue 
Lurketh woe instead of love. 

I am overcome with pain 
When I see thee here today, 

ToiliQg for a master ^s gain, 
When you ought to be at play. 

'Tis a brutal, heartless age. 
Which deprives thee of thy youth, 

And enslaves thee for a wage. 
Far too small for thee in sooth. 

Ah, that I were brave and strong 
And could wrest thee from the tomb, 

Where the days are endless long, 
And thy life doth be in gloom. 



[23] 



SPIRIT OF THE STORM 



TO THE MOENING STAE 

I do not greet thee, harbinger of day, 
Because thy glare remindeth me of toil; 

Of long and weary hours of dismay 
"Where every thought is lost in strife and moil. 

To bird and beast thy light means life and mirth, 
The coming of a bright and sunny mom ; 

While unto me, a ^^crown-prince of the earth,^' 
It means another day in factory hell forlorn. 

Thy splendor can not charm a weary slave. 
Who sells unto a master all his powers ; 

Nor can it please a miner in his grave. 
Who wastes beneath the earth his life's best 
hours. 



[24] 



SPIRIT OF THE STORM 



^* CIVILIZATION '' 

We live in an era of science and strife, 

Of commerce and dollars galore ; 
And still we must lead such a wearisome life, 

As never was lieard of before. 

Today, hearts have turned into glittering coin. 
And minds have become cash accounts ; 

And there where a souPs sacred fire would burn. 
Today, only business abounds. 

Where beauty once dwelt on a towering plane. 

And freedom unfolded her wing ; 
Today, awful greed and corruption and pain, 

Linger there, and to Mammon they sing. 

Man has learnt how to conquer the forest and 
stream. 

And mountains must weep at his will ; 
Yet happiness ever remains but a dream. 

In spite of man^s God-like skill. 



[25 1 



SPIRIT OF THE STORM 



SONG OF THE WAGE SLAVE 

I fain would sing of love and art, my dear, 
Had not mine eyes beheld life's bitter trutTi; 
Had I not been a slave since early yonth 

And spent my childhood in the workshop drear. 

Since I am doomed to lead this barren life, 

Creating wealth to quench the master's greed, 
I can but sigh for other hearts that bleed 

And like my own are doomed to endless strife. 

A WISH 

Ah, to be free as a bird in its flight, 

Midst flowers and meadows and woods; 
Away from this terrible grasp of the night, 

Where never a ray of the sun comes in sight, 
And man drowns in miserable moods. 

Away from the city's pestilent air. 
The people so sickly and pale; 

Away from the haunts of pain and despair, 
Where brotherly feeling is awfully rare, 

And truth gets the Cross and the Nail. 



[26] 



SPIRIT OF THE STORM 



SPRING MUSINGS 

And what though it bloom in field and in wood, 
And what though the air hold a fragrance of 
Spring, 
And what though the earth smile in gladness and 

And what though the robin again taketh wing? 
To me all the seasons seem closely allied, 

Winter and summer, springtime and fall; 
I slave in a dungeon by Mammon's domain 

And no one doth fathom the depth of my pain : 
Oh, Life I I am sick of it all. 



[27] 



SPIRIT OF THE STORM 



LAST NIGHT 

Last night tlie moon a crystal crescent shone, 
And m3rriad gems the heavens hlue adorned; 
And like an outcast by the world scorned 

I strolled beside the lake all by my own. 

Before me, trembling in the moonlight's glow, 
A silver sheet lay stretched into the night; 
And in my heart I felt a keen delight 

To be alone, for crowds fatieiie me so. 



DEAD LOVES 

Still sweetly lingers on the summer air, 

The fragrance of a rose my love had known; 

Still in the twilight and the skies ' red glare. 
Dead loves their lurid destinies bemoan. 

All that love had, it gave ungrudgingly, 
'Till every vestige of its youth was spent ; 

And now it seeks solace in dimmed memory 
And begs of time his blessed sacrament. 



[28] 



SPIRIT OF THE STORM 



ON THE RIVER 

Here, ah here my heart is free, 

Here my soul doth rise and smile; 
Here in pure sweet ecstacy 

Happiness is mine a while. 
Far is every earthly care. 

Long forgotten strife and pain; 
Echoes seem to fill the air, 

Saying, ^^Life is not in vain." 
Here I am the real self, 

Brave and strong and Godlike *'I" 
Brother to the woodland elf. 

Bird and beast and butterfly. 



[29] 



SPIRIT OF THE STORM 



OCTOBER 

Clouds hang low 
Over the fields 
Kissed by cold 
Autumnal winds; 
Gold-laden boughs 
Smng to and fro, 
Lashed by the rod 
Boreas wields. 

One lonely rose 
Adorns the waste, 
Mingling its red 
With brown and gold; 
And far and near 
The weary year 
Laments because 
*Tis growing old. 



[30] 



SPIRIT OF THE STORM 



THY SONG 

Thy song of long ago 

Has never left my heart; 
I hid it there, and so 

It dominates my art, 
And prompts me in the part 

Which I am here to play ; 
And often when the day 

Seems lost in somber gray 
And I am worn with cares, 

I turn to those sweet hours 
With thee midst pretty bowers, 

And I hum thy summer airs. 



[31] 



SPIRIT OF THE STORM 



ASPIRATION 

This is not mere desire, 
This is the soul's sweet fire; 
Which bids me love the higher, 

And brings the fruit of dreams. 

As all my days seem dreary. 
And evenings find me weary; 
'Tis hope that keeps me cheery, 
Though vain my hoping seems. 

And there are times and hours, 
When all my pent-up powers 
Like early April flowers, 

Burst forth in joyous bloom. 

Then like a giant waking, 
I feel my chains are breaking ; 
And though my heart is aching, 
I fear no earthly doom. 



r ^^ 1 



SPIRIT OF THE STORM 



THE CALL 

All summer long we toiled away, 
From early mom till dusk; ' 

We filled tlie masters' bins with grain, 
And we were fed on husk. 

We built the masters' mansions grand 
And kept their gardens green ; 

And we were cooped in tenements 
And crippled by machine. 

The summer days have come and gone 
And now shall come the fall ; 

Each day will find us burdened down 
With labors great and small. 

Our lords will revel in their wealth, 

And wine and dine in style ; 
And we, who toil and dig and delve, 

Will perish all the while. 

For them, the joys of life and ease, 
For us, the pangs and pains ; 

Oh, brothers, fellow workers, rise ! 
And let us break the chains. 



[33] 



SPIRIT OF THE STORM 



MOTHER 

(Translated from the Yiddish of Mani Leib.) 

The horse and sleigh beside the gate 

Stand buried half in snow ; 
Within the cottage mother weeps 

And wrings her hands in woe. 
^'Farewell, dear Mother! Dry yonr tears 

And give me yonr soft hand ; 
And wish thy child both fame and wealth 

Within the golden land. . . . " 

The ship drifts o'er the surging sea 

Mantled by misty shroud; 
Now lost in a bottomless ocean abyss, 

Now sailing into a cloud. 
Above I see my mother weep, 

And reaching her delicate hand; 
*'0 child, what happiness is yours 

There in the golden landf 

In dust, and smoke, and grime obscured, 
The shop, a dungeon stands ; 



[34] 



SPIRIT OF THE STORM 



And there, from early morn till dusk, 
I toil with brain and hands. 

And toiling I see my mother in tears 
Pointing with delicate hand — 

'*How can you, dear child, be happy 
Here in the golden land?*' 

The tenement house is silent now, 

'Tis midnight, and I cannot rest; 
mother, come and rock me to sleep 

As of old — with my head on your breast. 
And resting, I see my mother in tears. 

Smoothing my brow with her hand ; 
*^My darling child there is no joy 

Here in the golden land ! . . . " 



[35] 



SPIRIT OF THE STORM 



THE HEART'S SONG 

What matters it whether I sing and weep, 
The world lands the ones who are the strong; 

It matters not whether my grief is deep, 
This is no age for song. 

Yet doth the heart ponr ont its monotones. 
As doth the wind in cloudy Autumn nights ; 

And in its melancholy, tears and moans. 
It endlessly delights. 



[36] 



SPIRIT OF THE STORM 



TO THE WIND 

Hast thou no soul, oh wind in treetops weeping, 
Hast thou no heart which bleedeth as doth mine ; 

Oh, can it be that thou, thy vigils keeping, 
Dost not for human derelicts repine ? 

Dost thou not weep at sight of haggard faces. 
Of struggling souls that wither in the dust; 

Can it be true that in thy gentle graces 
There is no thought of human greed and lust? 

Methinks I hear within thy midnight moaning, 
The cry of pain within the human clan; 

And then I see the sinful world atoning 
And urging on the brotherhood of man. 



[37] 



SPIRIT OF THE STORM 



LADY IN WHITE 
(a poeteait) 

Out of a gilded frame her red lips smile, 
Radiantly she poses with a lily in her hand ; 

Her alabaster throat and eyes beguile 

As fair a soul as e'er emerged from fairyland. 

In years to come these brush strokes will survive ; 

And many a day, long after she has gone 
To unknown shores, as all fair creatures must ; 

Her smile, her look will still remain alive, 
Forever challenging grim Death and dust. 



[38] 



SPIRIT OF THE STORM 



A SONG OF TODAY 

TMs is the song of the stifled soul, 
And the tears that flow nnseen ; 

This is the lay of the unreached goal 
And the life that is dark and mean. 

Out of the depths of the city^s mire 

It echoes its woeful sob ; 
And with its slow consuming fire, 

The mind of its peace doth rob. 

Here youth in its early bloom doth fade, 
Chained to commercial greed; 

And Art in a tomb of want is laid, 
And none the heart's voice heed! 

Here age in the almshouse counts its days, 

And weeps its wasted years ; 
Here Death his time-worn sickle sways 

And ends one's hopes and fears. 



[39] 



SPIRIT OF THE STORM 



THE SEAMSTRESS 

She dreams in vain of life 's most precious flowers, 
Hers is the fate to struggle on unseen ; 

Hers but to waste the day^s serenest hours 
In toil and sweat beside the dark machine. 

Time looks and laughs at her relentless struggle, 
The heap of garments lying on the floor, 

The bitter game she plays with want and hunger, 
Where Death at last must write the final score. 



[40] 



SPIRIT OF THE STORM 



EXIT ROMANTICISM 

Gone are the ages heroic, 

No giants to saber and lance, 
This is the time of the stoic. 

Gone are the days of romance. 

Knighthood has fled before labor, 
Overalls clothe a young prince ; 

Lochinvar clerks for his neighbor, 
Trying his worth to evince. 

Juliet slaves in a laundry, 

Eomeo pushes a cart ; 

Valentine toils in a foundry, 

A plumber won Cynthia's heart. 

Elizabeth punches a keyboard, 
Dolores writes credit and cash; 

Catherine 's throne is a switchboard, 
And Beatrice, poor girl, *' slings hash." 



[41] 



SPIRIT OF THE STORM 



LIBEETY^S PLIGHT 

the earth is red with the blood of men 
And the skies are dark and grim; 

And Liberty's poor prostrate form, 
Lies limp on the chasm's brim. 

No more her fair face crowns the earth 
Her voice is dead and dumb ; — 

Save that faint echoes from her past, 
Upon the breezes come. 

Who shall revive her beauteous face, 

Give life unto her breath, 
There's still a chance for her to live, 

Tho' e'er so close to death. 

Is there no man so brave and true , 

Who might arise and stand. 
And reach to poor faint Liberty, 

A strong uplifting hand? 



[42] 



SPIRIT OF THE STORM 



THE UNEMPLOYED 

We waited long, we waited long, 

A haggard, hungry mob; 
Within a stuffy corridor 

And each prayed for a job. 
While silently I vainly prayed 

My heart would cease its throb. 

At last the well-fed *^ super" came 
And eyed us with contempt ; 

That sallow-faced, grim multitude, 
111 clad ; with hair unkempt, 

And in my heart I vainly prayed 
' ' Would God, I were exempt. ' ^ 

We all our ** pedigrees'' wrote down, 
As part of the ^ ^ red tape ; ' ' 

The masters we had served before, 
And whence our last escape ; 

While silently I doubted some 
Man's prestige o'er the ape. 



[43] 



SPIRIT OF THE STORM 

IN MEMORIAM 

(J. Howard Moore, Self-Slain, June 19th, 1916.) 

Born into a world of chaotic strife, 

Thy soul did languish in earth's prison house; 
Thou wert a lover of all human life, 

And human pain thy protest did arouse. 

The world was mad in its eternal haste, 
Whilst thou stoodst hy and sighed a pitying 
breath ; 
Lamenting always on life 's ruin and waste, 
And weeping ever over Kving death. 

Would I might own the power to express, 
The deep regard my spirit bore for thine ; — 

I would with all my own soul's tenderness, 
Thy deathless soul enshrine. 



[44] 



SPIRIT OF THE STORM 



A SONG 

Brother, has life been too hard an endurance, 
Has sin and temptation enshrouded your mind ; 

Take hope in this humble and heartfelt assurance, 
That God will not punish, for He is too kind. 

Your life is your own to mar or to sweeten. 
But ere you can do so remember the fact. 

That most of religions are old and worm-eaten. 
And should not determine your thought or your 
act. 

And God does not live in the temples and 
churches. 

Nor does He sanction the demagogue's art; 
But out of the love in our lives He emerges 

And all that He asks for is cleanness of heart. 



[45] 



SPIRIT OF THE STORM 



AT EVENTIDE 

The day is drawing to the western hills 
And purple cloudlets throng the summer sky; 
A meadowlark's sweet warble from on high 

My careworn soul with inspiration fills. 

This is my hour of rest, my one sweet hour, 
Eemoved from all the worries of the day; 
Now all discordant thought is cast away, 

And nature heals the heart with silent power. 



EESUERECTION 

When the wind is in the treetops, 

Singing gladly of the spring. 
And the birds are chirping gayly. 

And the trees are blossoming, 
Then my heart leaps up in joyance, 

Shedding pain and earthly woe, 
And my soul is resurrected, 

From the winter's cold and snow. 



[46] 



SPIRIT OF THE STORM 



A TOILER'S SPEINGTIME 

Spring and sun and bird-song, 
Through my window smile ; 
And a bit of heaven, 
Blue and white above. 
But I must keep on toiling, 
Struggling all the while; 
Just a humble day drudge, 
Without hope or love. 



THE GARDEN 

How fair and green the garden lies^ 

How tranquilly it sleeps. 
For vagrant bees and butterflies 

A paradise it keeps. 

And in the night unto the moon 
Its heart and soul lie bare ; 

While Pan's enchanting melodies 
Pervade its sacred air. 



[47] 



SPIRIT OF THE STORM 



VANQUISHED 

Like to the rose that fades, 

Like to the dying day ; 
One by one the years and all their dreams, 

Are fleeting far away. 

Naught save the deed undone. 

The hopeless wish unfilled ; — 
Life like a vain resolve, 

Is slowly stilled. 

Once like a ruling prince, in fair domain, 
The Superman defied all earthly things ; 

And now in earthly agony and pain. 
He crawls on broken wings. 



[48] 



SPIRIT OF THE STORM 



PEEHAPS 



I may be born again 
In some far after life 
To see my dream take form ; 
The bitter thought no more 
Will pierce my aching brain. 

I shall not be the hater 

Nor the ardent lover, 

But like the ripple 

Of the woodland brook, 

Dashing alike over rocks 

And thorns and meadowlands. 

The real ^^me,'' defiant and serene, 

Shall mock oblivion. 



[49] 



SPIRIT OF THE STORM 



WHEN I AM GONE 

Say this of me when I am gone, 
Into the land of peace and rest; 

Just this, *^He too loved Beauty once. 
And was by her enchantment blest.*' 

And do not weep upon my tomb. 
Nor cry against the hand of Fate; 

Just say, **He lived the rose^s bloom, 
And even thorns he could not hate. * * 



[50] 



SPIRIT OF THE STORM 



TO THE BROOK 

Murmur, murmur, little brook, 

On your busy way. 
Through the forest's solitude 

All the live-long day. 

Far away from wretchedness, 

Misery and strife ; 
Flowing, babbling, happily 

Dancing on through life. 

Dancing on so merrily 
Near a peasant's cot; 

Giving music to my soul, 
Oh, thy happy lot ! 



[51] 



SPIRIT OF THE STORM 



AUTUMN ON THE EOAD 

The smnmer's beauty is no more, 
Its warm blue sky has vanished ; 

And in the trees the wind doth roar, 
And flowers sweet are banished. 

Now autumn spreads its golden hue, 
In solemn way enshrining ; 

The forest's green, the distant blue, 
And all the ivy's twining. 

The lonely road lies sorrowing 
For Summer's happy presence; 

It yearns for children's frolicking, 
To break its awful silence. 

It longs to hear their voices sweet, 
On summer's echo ringing; 

And loves to feel their tiny feet, 
As they walk on while singing. 

But now the Summer is no more, 
Its warm blue sky has vanished ; 

And in the trees the wind doth roar, 
And flowers sweet are banished. 



[52] 



SPIRIT OF THE STORM 

THE KOCK AND THE STOEM 

(a legend) 

In a desert far away, 
There stood a rock so old and gray; 
It knew not love, nor knew it hate. 
Nor cared it much for time or fate. 

But once, a storm had come along, 
And to this rock poured out its song ; 
So sweet and sad this song had proved. 
That even the stone to tears was moved. 

* # # # 

Gentle reader, have no fears, 
Stones are seldom moved to tears. 



[53] 



SPIRIT OF THE STORM 



AFTEEWAEDS 

Wlien this thing is over and the world is sane 

again, 
We shall reflect with horror on all the needless 

pain. 
We shall abhor the pages, chronicles of blood 
Spilt in the name of kaisers, conntries, flags and 

God. 

And man shall live in freedom and love old Mother 

Earth, 
And no one shall bemoan the accident of birth. 
The world shall be one nation on a cooperative 

plan; 
Gnided by one edict — the Brotherhood of Man. 



[54] 



SPIRIT OF THE STORM 



THE PIANIST 

To day, I felt that I liad lived, 
My mind was at its ease; 

I heard the sweetest melody 
Borne on the summer's breeze. 

My heart was full of joyousness. 
Overfilled with music sweet; 

I felt such sacred harmony, 
Which I can scarce repeat. 

A child, and yet so talented, 
Such power in her touch ; 

She thrilled me to such ecstasy 
I felt, I lived so much. 

I lived, unconscious of myself, 
Unsoiled, by worldly slime ; 

I wandered far from earthliness. 
Into a realm sublime. 

Mysterious, was all I heard, 
So endless, pure and calm ; 

It left a loving memory, 

That e 'er my life will charm. 



[55] 



SPIRIT OF THE STORM 



THE PEDDLER 

He stood all day with a basket, 
On a comer of the street ; 

A haggard, hungry creature, 
The portrait of defeat. 

The housewives hurried by him, 
They would not buy his stock ; 

All day he waited vainly, 
And now 'twas eight o 'clock. 

So he staggered homeward sadly. 
To rest his weary head ; 

All night he moaned and muttered- 
At dawn they found him dead. 



[56] 



SPIRIT OF THE STORM 



AVERBUCH 
(a ballad) 

He sought a land where he might be, 

Without the despot's rule; 
And found that man was only free, 

In books he read at school. 

He meant no harm, nor fatal day, 
To those who rule the land; 

But sought to teach a better way; 
To make men understand. 

And *so one day it come to pass 
That he was filled with drub ; 

Because a teacher of the mass. 
Was silenced by the * * club. ' ' 

He went to see the legal chief, 

And ask him to explain ; 
foolish youth! *Twas his belief 

It would not be in vain. 

But tyrants fear a fatal end, 
And cowards woe surmise ; 

So Shippy clutched with forceful fend, 
And took him by surprise. 

[ 57 1 



SPIRIT OF THE STORM 



He held him as he would a beast, 
That sought to do some harm ; 

And all the time his fear increased 
And made his wrath more warm. 

Then drawing out a bloody gun, 
He pierced the youthful heart ; 

For shooting unto him is fun. 
Who knows the killing art. 

And when he saw the youthful form. 

Lie prostrate at his feet; 
He aimed once more the gun still warm, 

And did his act repeat. 

And thus a soul went on its way. 

The victim of a fyke ; 
For souls must seek their judgment day, 

And brutish men must strike. 

But as we have no right to judge. 
Or wield the chastening rod ; 

So let us entertain no grudge. 
But leave the job to God. 



[58] 



SPIRIT OF THE STORM 



HITCH YOUR WAGON 

Hitch your wagon to a star, 
Strive to be a master mind ; 

They who wish to travel far, 
Must not dare to lag behind. 

Life is merely one great way. 
Between darkness and void; 

Therefore let thy soul have sway, 
And the hearths voice shall be heard. 

Few there be who know the law. 
That one can make one's life or mar; 

Who would from Fortune favor draw, 
Must hitch his wagon to a star. 



[59] 



SPIRIT OF THE STORM 



LAMENTATION 

The wind is wailing at my garden gate ; 
And all the tears that human eyes have known, 
And all the souls that in their silence moan, 

And all the sad grim derelicts of fate, 

And all whose broken hearts are turned to 
stone. 

Gather around me, and forever wait. . . 

What can I give them? Poor hungry hearts ! 

How can I feed their unfulfilled desires ? 

When in my soul a thousand smouldering fires 
Are nigh extinct amidst life's noisy marts? 



[60] 



SPIRIT OF THE STORM 



SPRING CAME 

Spring came, a youthful nympli, and dancing o 'er 
lawn, 

A fairy queen in all her grand array; 
She clothed the woodland in a robe of dawn 

And drove grim Winter's snow and pain away. 

vr tr If 

The earth awoke, and in a song of praise, 

The wind poured out his heart on flowery dell, 

Proclaiming loudly through the lengthening days 
That nature sits enthroned, and all is well. 



AN AUTUMN DAY 

Sweetheart, the summer is over, 

Pale glimmers the harvest moon ; 
The bees have forsaken the clover. 

The birds will fly southward soon. 
Winter will come ; and the night wind 

May utter his mournful refrain ; 
Yet do not despair, for I know dear. 

Love must forever remain. 



[61] 



SPIRIT OF THE STORM 



A PASTORAL 

Soon the rose will bloom, 
Sing, my heart. 
Oh, sing, my heart ; 

June days banish gloom. 
Sing, my heart. 
Oh ! sing my heart ! 

Skies will smile above me, 
And on those who love me, 

Sing, my heart. 

For life and art 
Are born again today. 



[62] 



SPIRIT OF THE STORM 



'* SOCIETY LADIES TO FIGHT 
RADICALISM »' 

— News ItetiK. 

Give them the rouge and lipstick, 

Polish their pretty nails ; 
Sprinkle their gowns in perfume, 

Nothing else avails. 

Watch them go forth to battle 

Radical thought and deed ; 
Workers are naught but cattle, 
Why should they wish to be freed? 

Give them the rouge and lipstick, 

Polish their pretty nails ; 
Sprinkle their souls in perfume. 

Nothing else avails. . . 



[63] 



SPIRIT OF THE STORM 



THE RUSSIAN SHADOW 

Over the wide steppes 
The wind howls in the snow ; 
And Death hovers over the huts, 
And only carrion crows 
Are always cawing, cawing: 

Tillers and toilers dying, 
Slowly starving and dying ; 
There in the Volga valley, 
Where Russia weeps in blood 
And life is down for naught. 

A Christian world marvels 
At the havoc it has wrought ; — 
With blockade, war and falsehood 
It has slain defenseless babes 
And starved their nursing mothers. 

Oh, bitter grim repentance 
Forever must pursue 
The diplomats and statesmen 
Who knew too well ! 
Who knew ! . . . 



[64] 



SPIRIT OF THE STORM 



FLATBUSH 

In fashionable Flatbush one May afternoon 
I saw the orchids blooming in the sun; 
While Beauty led me till the day was done, 

And from the sea arose a crescent moon. 

My soul adored the splendid Flatbush homes, 
The lovely bowers and the cool green walks ; — 
But when I thought of homes where hunger 
stalks, 
It seemed that child-blood went to build these 
domes. 



# # # # 

One feels accursed because his inner being 
Forever weeps at sight of jades and silk; — 

And perfumed poodles to the mind's eye bring, 
A hungry slum child's weak and meagre milk. 



[65] 



SPIRIT OF THE STORM 



WHERE TO? 

What is this life of endless beginnings, 

This constant seeking for something afar;' 

Where is the madman who doth conceive it, 
The author of earth's eternal scar? 

Bides he aloft in his cozy heaven, 
Smiling, sarcastic, at mortal woe. 

Or is he aware of this dwarf existence, 
The harrowing struggles here below? 



[66] 



SPIRIT OF THE STORM 



DANIEL DE LEON 



IN MEMORIAM 



And art thou dead, oh great soul, brave and true, 
Thou who didst scorn the privileged and the 

strong. 
Or hast thou gone, as goes the minstrel's song, 

Into the realm where skies are always blue ? 

I can not think of thee as one who died, 
For everywhere thy works loom large and 

bright; 
I can not think that the eternal night 

Hath gulped thy being's kindliness and pride. 



[67] 



SPIRIT OF THE STORM 



THEY WHO WEEP 

They who weep in the night, my love, 
Oh, those who weep in the night ; — 

The lonely lives and the weary ones 
Who wage their bitter fight! 

Would God hath given me power to heal. 
Ay, power to cheer sad souls ; 

To teach them love of a great ideal 
And point them to their goals. 



KINDRED SPIRITS 

Though words were not uttered between them, 
The gaze in her eyes told it all ; — 

Orbs that were deep as the ocean, 

Betraying her inner devotion, 

Her spirit in sacred emotion. 
His own souPs kinship did call. 



[68] 



SPIRIT OF THE STORM 



NATUEE 

It needs no word to sound its loveliness, 
It is not longing to be heard or sung; 
The springs and summers leave it unafraid, 
It heeds not man 's lament nor worldly wrong. 



VIGIL 

Last night I sat beside thee, oh, my own, 
And saw thy frail young form in slumber lost; 

While thy fair bosom heaved in restless tone. 
Like some sad bark by stormy billow tossed. 

Thy face contained a look of weariness, 
A curse was written in its every line ; 

It made one conscious of the bitterness 
Love holds within her sweet and sacred wine. 



[69] 



SPIRIT OF THE STORM 



OCTOBER IDYLL 

When the sun shines and a south breeze blows 
And the heavens are blue, 
There comes a peace ; the kind that only a poet 
knows. 

Something within the heart chants a melody, 
It sings of reconcilement to earth, 
And one grows glad of life. 

It is enough to know, that there are days like these 
When wounded hearts are healed ; — 
Enough to feel the caress of the breeze. 

Two yellow butterflies and two snow white 
Are hovering over the meadow ; 
And this in late October. 

When the green is slowly dying, and crickets are 

asleep, 
These ethereal vagabonds are still in love witE^ 

life, 
Not heeding Winter's footsteps. 



[70] 



SPIRIT OF THE STORM 



Beauty comes on nimble feet, 
Treading lightly on tlie fields ; 
Slie twangs her eternal melodies into one^s sotd. 

Once in October, long ago. 

Beside a bonfire bright, 
When stars were singing in the sky 

Sweet rhapsodies of night, 
We sat upon a tnft of grass 

And gazed into the fire, 
And inwardly we conjured up 

Great castles of desire. . . 

And now we are old. 

Not in years but in dreams ; — 
Withering slowly each day. 

Like to a rose in October garden; 
Stifled in morass of material things ; — 

And dumb as the vaults of man are dumb 
Beside fair Beauty's soul. . . 



[71] 



SPIRIT OF THE STORM 



WE HAVE NOT FAILED 

We have not failed, we have not failed, oh 
brothers, 
Tho' dim as night and cold the world appears; 
We have not flinched, we have not feared the 
struggle, 
And victory is ours with the years. 

And though the fools may jeer us in derision, 
And plutocrats display their bitter wrath. 

We shall not leave the sacred task unfinished, 
Nor fail to point mankind the sunward path. 

We have not failed, we have not failed, oh 
brothers, 

Tho ' dim as night and cold the world appears ; 
We shall not flinch, we shall not fear the struggle, 

'Till victory is ours with the years. 



[72] 



SPIRIT OF THE STORM 



SOUL OF A SHOPKEEPER 

What shall repay the inner woe, 
The deep depression of one^s soul! 

Who shall the spirit's anguish know 
Of him who finds no goal? 

The shekels come, the credits rise, 
The coffers bulge with earthly goods; 

These in exchange for summer skies 
And Grod's green woods. . . 

Oh, grant me respite. Mother Earth, 
From endless days in busy mart; 

To live and rest and know the worth 
Of quiet mind and peace of heart. . 



•1 



[73] 



s 



PIBIT OF THE STORM 



^^OPEN FOR DAILY MEDITATION^' 

They come on the wings of desire 

To silence their innermost pain- 
Haggard and heartsore and bleeding 
Victims of barter and gain . . . 

They kneel in the dusk of the chapel 

To ease their careworn sonls — 
Away from the city's mire 

Where all play pitiful roles . . . 

The come to shed their burdens 

Before a kindly God— 
And, leaving the silent altars, 

Go back to toil and plod. . . 



[74] 



SPIRIT OF THE STORM 

THE IRISH MART YES 

(Written after the Easter Uprising.) 

Thy are not dead 

Who rose to smite a king, 
Who dared oppose 

The rule of duke and lord ; — 
The valiant band 

Who gave their all for love, 
That Freedom's name 

Might be a living word. 

Thy are not dead 

Who split their noble blood, 
To free a people 

From oppression's thumb; 
For Tyrants only ever really die 

And only cowards stay docile and dumb. 

Their voices will resound 

Across the years to come 
And rouse the youth 

Of Erin^s Emerald Isle : 



[75] 



SPIRIT OF THE STORM 



To break the yoke 

That England's cruel hand 
Had forged about 

Their hapless nation's throat. 

They are not dead ; — 
These noble Irish sons; 

Their names must live 
As long as Liberty . . . 



[76] 



SPIRIT OF THE STORM 



SILENCE 

Silence reigns on tlie liill 

And the heart is at rest ; 

Nature adorned in her glory, 

Sweet and divinely dressed, 

Lnlls the heart's hunger 

And stills the throbbing pain : 

Lingering cloudlets remain 

While the sky in the west 

Is adorned in a red-golden robe again. 

Now it were well to lie down 

And forever remain, 

Thoughtless and wordless 

A being unmoved : — 

Now it were well to forget 

The days one had suffered and loved; 

It were joy to renounce mortal form 

And enter into the silence 

One ever hungers after, 

In life's eternal storm. . . 



[77] 



SPIRIT OF THE STORM 



IN MEMORY OF HORACE TRAUBEL 

Like to a fallen leaf 

Thy mortal form hath dropped, 

Wearied of Summer splendor 

And the year's last breath. 

Firm in the faith of immortality 

And brimming over with the love of life 

Thon smilest even now 

Upon the sleep called ^^ Death/' 

For thee, oh Horace Traubel 

There is no end of all. . . 



* * * * 

Love cradled you within her tender lap ; 
And all thy days were but a stepping stone, 
From Love's one planet to the Cosmic Whole. 



[78] 



SPIRIT OF THE STORM 



MODEEN LOVE 

It turns to hate, because its spirit yeameth 
To enslave, to hinder and to bind: — 

^Tis not content to dominate the body, 
But ever striveth to possess the mind. 

And until man may see the dawn of freedom 
And not until the present passes by; — 

Love must forever be a tyrant, 
Not merely that, but must remain a lie . . 



[79] 



SPIRIT OF THE STORM 



SUNSET 

The sea descends to silent night, 
The skies are crimson in the west; 

While from the east a lonely light 
Guides the homeward ships to rest. 

The sandy beach lies blushing gold 
And gentle wavelets kiss the shore; 

And myriad souls their wings unfold, 
The sweet night to adore . . . 



[80] 



SPIRIT OF THE STORM 



THE MARCH WIND 

Yes, I have seen the sunset wielding a brush, 
Dipped in the purest dye of purple and gold; 
And tinting the snow clad meadows on March 

afternoons, 
In wonderful patterns that flashed through the 

eye to one 's soul. 

And IVe listened at night to the March wind^s 

echoing sobs 
Bemoaning the price that we pay for our 

journeying on. . . 
Or lulling the sleepless ones slowly to slumber and 

rest; 
Effacing their daily burdens of sorrow and strife. 

Then the gnawing and yearning and hunger came 

on me again 
And bade me go forth with the muses to wander 

once more ; — 
To chant as of old to an age of unlistening ears 
And twang on my lyre the March wind's echoing 

sob. . . 



[81] 



SPIRIT OF THE STORM 



SPRING SONG 
(in wartime) 

'Tis Spring and the earth is reborn with joy, 

The skies are alive and smile; 
While shadows of sorrow enshroud my soul 

And torture me all the while. 

My heart goes weeping over the hills 

For those who went away 
To die in far off battlefields 

Beyond the oceans grey. 

And I cannot banish from my mind 

One fair unfinished thing 
That lies beneath the greening earth 

And ne'er shall see the Spring. . . 



[82] 



SPIRIT OF THE STORM 



JOHN EEED 
(in memokiam) 

Spirit of youth that flingest far thy banners, 
To bind a bleeding world into one; — 

Scion of races of pioneer pilgrims 
Who dared to seek new freedom in the sun . . . 

Thine was the love that hath no earthly ending, 

Starlike and faithful even unto death ; 
Ever the oppressed and downtrodden 
defending, — 
Shouting human brotherhood with life's last 
breath . . . 

Kin to the lightning that pierces the heavens 
When earth lies enshrouded in storm and in 
stress ; 

Thine was the spirit that hell could not conquer, — 
It liveth forever to love and to bless ... 



[83] 



SPIRIT OF THE STORM 



IN WARTIME 

Ay, verily has it come to pass 

That one must silence e^en his soul; 

Lest one speak as Christ hath spake 
And play the martyr's role. . . 

Methinks that e'en the Decalogue, 
Should now be carefully revised; 

To fit the spirit of the day; — 
The world uncivilized. . . 



[84] 



SPIRIT OF THE STORM 



FIRST LOVE 

Serene as the summer night her fancies fly 
Over the city roofs to the great West; 

There in a flowery lane by moonbeams kissed, 
Her weary soul seeks rest. 

Memories linger still within her heart 
And mock her spirit like some wingless dove; 

They seem to doubt that one so buffeted, 
Should e^er have known first love. 

First love ! The very thought is maddening, 
When but the ashes on the hearth remain ; — 

And in the silences no echo falls, 

To ease the yearning and the inner pain. . . 



[85] 



SPIRIT OF THE STORM 



NIGHT IN CHICAGO 

The wind blows out of the lake tonight 

And weeps in the treetops tall; 
In tones that smart the lonely heart 

As I list to the raindrops fall. 

And the song that the air contains tonight 

Is one of eternal woe ; — 
For those who roam and have no home 

When wintry tempests blow. . . 



[86] 



SPIRIT OF THE STORM 



AWAITING A CHILD 

(November 19th, 1914.) 

Grod grant me this one wish, 

The fire of my soul; 
Ease my loved one^s pain 

Lord help her reach the goal. 

And lead the new-born soul aright 
In all its wandering on earth ; 

That it may add to hmnan light, 
That it may be of real worth. 

Oh may it be a soul of love 

To ease the world's pain and woe; 

And may thy guidance from above 
Teach it how to live and grow. 



[87] 



SPIRIT OF THE STORM 



THE MEADOWLARK AND THE POET 

(Translated from the Yiddish of B. Kovner.) 

The sky is blue, a potter ^s field, — 

A green and blooming tree, 
And by its" side a silent grave, 

Wherein there rests a dream. 

A mother ^s dream, her only son, 

How deep her grief doth smart, 
The earth had gulped her only child 

Together with her heart. . . 

A poet was her only son. 

Whose soul the whole day long, 
Did bum and bloom eternally 

And gave itself to song. 

A freedom song, a song of strife, 

A song that called for joy; — 
That sowed a myriad ray of hope 

In heart of man and boy. 



[88] 



SPIRIT OF THE STORM 



The poet dead, yet one still hears 
His sweet enchanting lyre; — 

'Tis caried by a meadowlark 
Who sings and does not tire. . , 

The meadowlark swings upon the bough, 

That overhangs the tomb; 
And sings the poet^s plaintive notes 

And dreams the poet's dream. . . 



[89] 



SPIRIT OF THE STORM 



BOY AND MAN 

One was a youth with eyes turned heavenward 
And one a man who drank the bitter lees; 

Life smiled upon the boy and urged him on, 
The man with head bowed low, crawled on his 
knees. 

Each day the twain were toiling on their upward 
path 

'Gainst rain and storm and thorny hedges cruel ; 
The youth walked firmly to attain his goal, 

The man with Fate had fought his bitter duel. 



[90] 



SPIRIT OF THE STORM 



AUTUMN 



AT THE SEASHOBE 



' ^ The end of summer, alas I 
All fair things must fade:" 
Sing the waves a dirge 
Upon the vacant beach. 

The bungalows dark and still 
Are perched upon the hill; — 
Where is the joy and laughter 
Of a day ago?. . . 

The wind is howling 

In the chimney tops 

Of the deserted cottages; 

Proclaiming the winter's approach. 

And ice-bom sirens and fawns 
Gather upon the beach 
And frolic joyously 
Beneath the Autumn clouds. 



[91] 



SPIRIT OF THE STORM 



TREAD OF THE FROST 

The frost came slowly stealing o'er the hill, 
Like hungry tiger seeking food in vain ; 
It brought unbounded agony and pain 

To flower and bud which it would slowly kill. 

Next morn the sun rose on a barren waste 
And brought the teardrops to nasturtium 

cheeks ; 
Then came the snowdrifts and the weary weeks 

And Boreas through the woodland came in haste. 



[92] 



SPIRIT OF THE STORM 



LYEIC 

It is not I, it is not I 

Who ever doth aspire ; 
To things beyond the human reach, 

In madness of desire. 

Mine be a life of toil and love 
And joy in earthly things; 

Fair mother Earth sufficeth me. 
Let angels have their wings. . . 

May sear-eyed mortals strive in vain 
To reach some heavenly sphere ; 

I need not seek for Godliness, — 
I find it all right here . . . 



[93] 



SPIRIT OF THE STORM 



''A WIND-TOSSED ROSE-LEAF '^—ITa^^ 

Fluttering in the wind, 
A rose-leaf passed me by; 

I caught a glimpse of it 
Through my restless eye. 

Rose-leaf hast a fate 
Sure as day, thought I, 

To live eternally, 

To live and never die . . . 



[94] 



SPIRIT OF THE STORM 



MY ESTATE 

The homeless man halted my progress 

As I was surveying the town, 

**Give me the price of a bed,'' 

He stammeringly said. 

I dug into my pockets 

And found a lyric poem ; — 

But I dared not offer it. . . 



[95] 



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